


Guilty Pleasures

by lordofthemark (Galadriel)



Series: Lord of the Mark [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-06
Updated: 2004-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 09:23:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/lordofthemark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...have been spotted on our western borders. I fear that the Dunlendings..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilty Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Theatrical Muse, Topic #7, Guilty Pleasures.

"...have been spotted on our western borders. I fear that the Dunlendings..."

A short burst of laughter pulls the King's attention away from his sister-son, away from the recitation of reports of hunger, hopelessness and death. The world is changing, and not for the better.

A little girl, her dress threadbare and two sizes too big, still sporting the telltale embellishments of a woman presented at court, rubs her cheek against the side of a hound, giggles as the dog turns, twists out of her grasp. It rumbles, deep in its chest, halfheartedly stalks her across the stone floor. She shrieks with glee, runs awkwardly behind a pillar, coos at the animal as it pads nearer.

He smiles, watching the girl and hound, thinking of nothing but the feel of fur, the warmth of the sun, the joy of riding to the hounds, nothing but baying voices, thundering hooves, men grunting and sweating in the heat of the afternoon, horses skimming across the plains. He wishes, for one brief moment, to cast off the shackles of royalty and obligation, to stand in the long grasses and think of nothing but the height of his prize hawk while on the wing.

"...my Lord? Uncle?"

He nods, recalls dimly what is being asked of him, surprisingly disappointed that even in the midst of his fancies there is still a part of him weighed down by his Kingship, continually counting arms and riders, keeping order and law. "Send the outlying settlements what stores we can spare, and double the patrols on our borders. The men are not to invite attack, nor are they to provoke it, but I want our people safe."

Eomer bows, hastens to carry out his orders.

"Hama?"

"Yes, my Lord?" The doorward approaches quickly, bends smartly, sharply, his sword rattling a gentle forewarning of the dark days Theoden can feel approaching.

He frowns, gestures at the girl still giggling behind the pillar. "Find this child's father. I would have my silence undisturbed."

Hama escorts the girl from the Hall, gloved hand held out to tiny fist. The silence settles on Theoden as the hound settles at his feet, softly wheezing air in and out of aged lungs.

He thinks of grass and sun, hawks and hounds, the sound of his son's laughter, the touch of his wife's hand.

Theoden shakes his head. These are but pleasures, and guilty ones at that. He has duties to attend to, a people to protect.


End file.
